


The Awful Daring Of A Moment's Surrender

by cuttooth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Desperation Play, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-29 05:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: Jon takes a deep, shuddering breath, and lets it out slowly. This is...actually happening, then. His stomach twists anxiously. His phone vibrates again, and his face heats at the words on the screen:Make sure you eat something today. And drink plenty of water! :)*Jon has a fantasy he'd like to try. Martin's more than happy to oblige.





	The Awful Daring Of A Moment's Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> It occurred to me recently that I had never written any consensual kink, so I decided to remedy that. That's the entire fic, guys! Featuring softest dom Martin Blackwood, and Jon "deliver me from decision-making" Sims. 
> 
> Tremendous thanks to my wonderful beta reader [fatal_drum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum), whose insightful advice made this so much better. If you haven't read their amazing fics, you are missing out!

_ “blood shaking my heart _  
_ The awful daring of a moment’s surrender” _  
― T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

At lunchtime, Jon’s phone vibrates with a text. 

_ Are we still on for this evening? What we discussed? _

Jon’s face goes hot immediately, and he quickly places the phone face down on his desk. _ As if anyone would know from looking at it, _ he scolds himself. He picks the phone up in a shaking hand, and spends a minute or two staring at it, chewing on his lower lip nervously. Now is the time to pull out, tell Martin he’s changed his mind. 

It isn’t that he’s worried about being judged, never that. Not with Martin, who is kind and endlessly accepting, who Jon has trusted with the most intimate and confusing parts of himself. Who's helped Jon, for the first time in his life, to reconcile his general disinterest in sex with the way that his heart pounds at the thought of specific acts. Jon is still sometimes astonished by the things he’s let Martin do to him, and the ways his brain and body have reacted to them. 

It’s just…this is a particularly embarrassing fantasy. Talking about it was one thing, but actually _ enacting _it is another entirely. A rather terrifying one. Although Martin didn’t even blink at Jon’s heated, stuttering confession, simply asked if he wanted to try it sometime, Jon doesn’t think he can actually go through with it.

His thumb hovers over the screen. As usual, he’s spent far too long thinking about it, and Martin will think he’s ignoring him. He’s so awful at this. He just - he can’t do it. It’s too much. He swipes at the keyboard:

_ Yes _

_ Great! _comes the reply almost immediately, then after another minute:

_ Come over after six. As if I could drag you out of work any earlier than that even on a Saturday. _

Jon takes a deep, shuddering breath, and lets it out slowly. This is...actually happening, then. His stomach twists anxiously. His phone vibrates again, and his face heats at the words on the screen:

_ Make sure you eat something today. And drink plenty of water! :) _

Jon spends the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on research, with limited success. The Institute is quiet on the weekends, which is normally conducive to work. Today, though, the silence is very loud. Jon’s attention keeps drifting to his phone, which hasn’t buzzed since that last text. He keeps going back to read it, startled at the force of his own reaction, his face flushing and blood pounding in his ears. The fact that, to anyone else, the message would be entirely innocuous makes it almost _ more _ scandalous. 

_ Drink plenty of water. _ The simple message feels oddly like Martin’s hand on the nape of his neck, warm and knowing, guiding him to his knees. Feels like Martin’s breath against his ear as he secures Jon’s wrists at the base of his spine, murmuring how good he is, how lovely. It makes Jon feel weak and hot all at once, his mouth going dry. The fact that Martin isn’t here makes the feeling no less compelling. 

Jon forces down a sandwich about three o’clock, and drinks several large glasses of water over the course of the afternoon, as directed. He hesitates over whether to read a statement, because they can leave him in an odd mood, but ultimately decides he could use the distraction. It’s a long one, and it winds him in the frustrating muddle of Distortion, leaves him irritated and puzzling over the follow up research. 

By the time he gives it up as a bad job, he realizes two things. It’s already quarter past six, and he really needs to relieve himself. He’s halfway to the Archives’ small lavatory before he remembers: that was the point. A thrill runs through him as he returns to his desk. He sits back down for a moment to ground himself, hands flat on the smooth wooden surface. 

“Right,” he says, feeling a little breathless. “Okay.”

He gathers what he needs, phone and wallet and jacket, and sends a quick text to Martin before he leaves. 

_ Sorry, on my way _

_ I can’t wait to see you, _ comes the response. _ It’s going to be fun. _ Jon swallows hard. 

He makes his way to the Tube station as quick as he can through the low pall of drizzle. The streets are already filling with weekend revelers, and Jon gets unceremoniously jostled by a loud stag party coming out of what’s definitely not their first pub of the evening. He almost misses his train when his Oyster card won’t bloody _ beep, _ and then it’s Circle to Victoria to Northern Line, tapping his foot impatiently while he waits, trying not to think too much of the feeling low in his abdomen, the urge - not quite a _ need _ yet, but pushing insistently against his awareness. At one point, he takes his phone out to distract himself, and sees another text from Martin.

_ Hope you’re not too tired. Because I plan to work you hard this evening. :) _

Jon’s flush renews itself all over again, and a tight, hot feeling crawls across his body. He can feel his skin tingling with goosebumps, his nipples stiffening. The urge grows suddenly intense, aching from his abdomen down to his balls. His toes tap an urgent staccato on the floor, his fingers curling hard against the tense muscles of his thigh. He puts the phone away and tries to think about anything else. 

He takes the walk to Martin’s flat as fast as he dares, wondering why Martin couldn’t live somewhere a little more convenient, honestly. The need is definite, now, and he’d consider running, if he didn’t think that would worsen his predicament. A tremendous sense of relief washes over him when Martin’s building comes into view, so strong he feels almost light headed. There is a deep and instinctual part of him that immediately knows everything’s okay now, because he’s nearly with Martin, and Martin will take care of things. 

Jon tries very hard not to overanalyze that part of himself, because it leaves him equal parts embarrassed and overheated. Instead he tries to just accept how much he craves Martin’s attention, his direction. How profoundly grateful he is, on occasions like this, to place his autonomy into Martin’s steady, gentle hands. 

Martin is waiting at the door when he ascends the stairs. He pulls Jon in for a kiss, and Jon lets his mouth go soft and pliant under Martin’s. Leans heavily into Martin, _ everything’s okay now, _ and hears the whimper escape his throat when Martin pulls away. Martin gives him a sharp, assessing look.

“All right?” he asks. 

“Yes, fine. It was just - a bit of a journey, getting here.” 

“Poor thing,” Martin says. “You’re here now. Come inside.”

Martin sits them both down on the sofa and runs through the checklist of what they previously agreed for this evening, of making sure Jon’s comfortable and remembers the traffic light system. There's a large, faded throw blanket covering the sofa, and some padding underneath that feels like a layer of towels. Jon’s pulse rate jumps, blood rushing in his ears, his head swimming at the implication of the set up, what they’re going to do here. 

He drags himself back into focus, because he knows Martin won't hesitate to call this off if he thinks Jon's not in the right frame of mind. And Jon wants this, _ god_. Beyond all the hesitation and embarrassment, he's shaken by how badly he wants it. He concentrates enough to nod and consent enthusiastically, repeat _ red, amber, green light_, and generally quivers with impatience until Martin is satisfied.

“Right,” Martin says, standing up. “I'm going to fetch a couple of things. I want you to drink a glass of water before I come back.”

“I, ah, I had quite a lot earlier. I don't think I need anymore.”

“Jon,” Martin says firmly. 

“I - right,” says Jon, flushing. Of course. Whatever Martin asks is what Jon’s going to do, just now. His legs feel a little weak as he stands up and goes to run the tap, while Martin disappears into the bedroom. He's not thirsty, and the flowing water is an uncomfortable reminder of his condition, but he fills a glass and drinks as fast as he can. He sets it on the counter just before Martin comes back. He's holding a rolled up yoga mat and a small bundle of clothing.

“Well done,” Martin says, “And I can tell you drank plenty today as well. You're so good at doing what I tell you, even when I'm not there.”

Jon feels heady warmth spreading through him at the praise, expanding his chest in pleasant ways. Martin presses the folded up clothing into his hands. 

“You might want to try different outfits in the future,” he says. “But for your first time I thought it would be nice for you to be comfy. You can change here or in the bedroom, but the bathroom is off limits, of course.”

Jon changes in the bedroom. His hands are trembling a little as he undresses, and his full bladder is a constant, dull ache, spreading through his hips and groin. He briefly considers whether he should keep his pants on, but in the end he slips them off as well. Pulls on the soft cotton pajama bottoms and loose t-shirt, and returns to the living room. Martin is sitting on the sofa, and he pats the cushion beside him.

Obedient, Jon walks over and sits beside him. Martin gently presses him back into the cushions, and rests a hand on his abdomen, right over his heavy bladder. 

“How are you feeling, Jon?” Martin asks, solicitous. Jon considers.

“I’m - okay,” he says. The immediate need to urinate has faded, and while he’s not exactly comfortable, he feels all right. The pressure is a steady throbbing in his abdomen, low and oddly sensual. He wriggles his hips a little, pushing his thighs together. 

“That’s good,” Martin tells him, his voice low and filled with promise. “Because I’m going to push you until you’re desperate, until you’re absolutely sure you can’t hold on anymore. But you’re going to, okay? You’re going to hold on until I give you permission to let go.”

He begins rubbing his hand in slow circles as he says it. Even that slight weight sends little twinges of sensation through the muscles of Jon’s pelvis, and he shuts his eyes. An anxious thrill rushes through him, contracting his diaphragm. This is - definitely really happening. As if in response to that realization, the need for relief increases again. Jon crosses his legs tightly.

“No cheating,” Martin scolds him gently. Jon nods, his face heating, and uncrosses his legs. Martin uses his free hand to spread them further, so Jon can’t even squeeze them together for a reprieve. 

“You won’t do anything I don’t tell you to, will you?” Martin says, pressing insistently.

“No,” Jon breathes, and whimpers softly as Martin’s palm pushes harder against his bladder, a sharper pang cutting through. Martin kisses him, swallowing the needy sounds from his mouth. Coaxes Jon’s mouth open and soft against his, presses his knuckles into Jon’s abdomen, palpating in a way that sends pangs through him. Jon squirms under his hand, tensing his pelvic muscles to try and maintain his composure. 

Martin is relentless, working his hand back and forth, finding the spots that make Jon gasp and clench. His abdominal muscles are straining, the deep ache spiking urgently where Martin’s kneading against him. Jon’s fingers are digging into the sofa, heat blooming in his face as he can feel himself right on the verge of losing it. He clenches harder, whimpers into Martin’s mouth.

“Martin, stop, I’ll - ”

“You won’t,” Martin tells him, calm and firm, pushing his knuckles hard into Jon’s abdomen until he’s whining with distress. “You’ll hold it until I tell you to let go, and it’s going to feel so good, sweetheart. You want to be good, don’t you?”

“Yes, I - yes - ” Jon gasps, and Martin pulls his hand away, lifts it to stroke the side of Jon’s face. 

“I know you do, Jon,” he says fondly. “You’re so good for me. You can hold yourself if it feels better.”

Jon grits his teeth and grasps his groin with both hands, applying pressure to relieve the desperate immediacy. Squeezes his legs together until the pain right behind his cock recedes to a dull throbbing, and sits there, breathing shallowly. Martin lets him regain his composure, stroking his hair and murmuring gentle nothings in his ear.

“What color are we?” Martin asks after a few minutes. Jon pants a laugh.

“Green,” he says. “Definitely. It’s just - a lot.”

“It’s supposed to be,” Martin smiles, rubbing his thumb into a knot in Jon’s shoulder. “You’re very tense - tough day at work?”

“Well I’m not exactly in a relaxing situation right now,” says Jon, tersely. Martin laughs and kisses his cheek.

“Wrong kind of tense,” he says. “I want you wound up like a spring, ready to release all that lovely tension. Not like an elastic band ready to snap. You need to get out of your head, Jon.”

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

“Glad you asked,” says Martin. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m - okay for now.”

“Good. Then I want you to lie face down on the floor.”

He spreads out the yoga mat, and Jon does what he’s asked without question. He has no idea what Martin has in mind, and he is giddy with the knowledge that he doesn’t have to worry, doesn’t have to make any choices, just do what Martin tells him. Jon’s never been any use at knowing anything about his own body. It feels so much better to let Martin decide what’s going to feel good, what he’s going to enjoy. His breathing quickens a little as he lays down, very aware of his belly flattened against the hard floor. 

He feels more than hears Martin kneel down behind him, and is mildly surprised as Martin’s hands hook around his shins, lifting his legs a few inches off the floor. The weight on his abdomen increases instantly, and he tenses instinctively against it, a deep, gratifying pressure. 

“Put your forearms flat on the ground and push yourself up,” Martin directs him. Jon does, and his weight shifts directly over his hips, pushing up through his groin. Sensation shivers through him, and he hears a low sound escape his lips. 

“Perfect,” Martin tells him. His voice is calm, but he sounds just a little breathy. “Now I want you to rock forward and back, just like this. I’m going to help you move, all right?”

Jon nods, and feels Martin pull his legs up a few more inches so his body tips forward. He lets himself dip, feeling the rolling pressure up along his pelvis to his abdomen. A wave of need washes over him and he sighs, his groin aching. The feeling repeats as Martin lowers his legs, and Jon pushes up onto his forearms, pressing as hard as he can against the floor, feeling the fullness, the pleasant throb, shift down towards his balls. He groans softly. 

“You like that?” Martin asks, and when he nods shakily: “Tell me how much.”

“God, it’s - ” he whimpers quietly as his hips rock forward again. “It feels like - it’s like being so full. Like I can’t take anymore, but then I have to, because you keep pushing - ”

Another whimper as Martin lifts his legs again, his pelvic muscles tightening pleasurably as the pressure, the urgency, builds. 

“Keep pushing me,” he gasps, and he can’t tell if it’s a description or a plea. Martin makes a quiet sound, and then one of his arms hooks under both of Jon’s legs, while the other roams up over his thighs and his buttocks, stroking and squeezing. Martin’s large hand lands flat over Jon’s tailbone and presses down, while at the same time he tips Jon’s legs up. Jon moans, trapped between the floor and Martin’s hand, shaking and desperate. He rocks his hips back and forth, and with every movement that sweet, aching pressure builds, rolling through his pelvis in waves. 

A tense, taut sensation is starting right behind his cock, and with each rocking motion he feels more and more like he’s going to lose control. Martin is murmuring words of encouragement to him, telling how beautiful he is, how very lovely like this. How he’s so good, and he’s going to hold on no matter how much he wants to let go, isn’t he? Jon nods frantically, yes, yes, anything, just to keep feeling this.

Jon can’t think, can’t even feel embarrassed at how needy he is, pushing his hips back and forth with Martin’s hand on him and his bladder throbbing against his groin. His face is burning hot and he is whimpering, feeling that sharp pinch low in his pelvis that tells him he’s going to lose it. A low, keening whine escapes his throat as he feels a weak spurt of liquid warmth in his groin. 

“Ah - Martin, amber light,” he gasps, clenching his pelvic muscles desperately. Martin’s hands release him immediately, and Jon lies there, trembling and panting. 

“Are you okay?” Martin asks after a few moments. “Do we need to stop?”

“No, I just - need a minute.” 

Martin helps him to roll onto his back, taking in his flushed face, his still heaving chest. The wet spot that Jon can feel seeping through the pajamas, and he is embarrassed and thrilled at Martin seeing him like this, utterly exposed.

“Sorry,” Martin tells him. “That was probably a bit too much.” 

“No, no it was...good. I suppose that’s the problem.” Jon laughs weakly. He still feels a little dizzy, his heart pounding with how close he came to losing control. 

"You sounded wonderful,” Martin says softly. His face is flushed, and Jon realizes with startled pleasure that Martin is enjoying this as well. He’s enjoying _ doing _ this to Jon, pushing him to his limits, simultaneously stripping and demanding his control. The realization coils hot through his belly.

“I think I’m all right again,” he says, after a couple of minutes. “Green, that is.”

“You’re ready for me to take you apart, then?” Martin asks, his tone equal parts playful and heated. “Lovely. Let’s get back on the sofa.”

Martin pulls him up off the floor and settles him onto the sofa, arranges Jon so he’s slumped against the cushions with his hips tilted forwards, pushes a pillow into the small of his back for support. Jon lets himself sink, because whatever Martin wants for him, he’ll accept. 

Martin spreads Jon’s legs carefully wide, runs his hands up and down them from his knees almost to his groin, massaging the muscles. Jon does his best to relax into it, to enjoy the feeling of Martin’s hands on him. But the urgency is growing again, his pelvic muscles flexing desperately as Martin’s hands push his thighs even further apart. Jon grits his teeth and thinks about releasing the painful pressure in his groin, at the bliss of losing control, of Martin’s eyes on him, watching him squirm in helpless pleasure. 

“Look at you,” Martin says, as if reading his mind. “You look so perfect like this, full and desperate.”

“Martin,” he gasps. “I don’t think I can do this much longer. It _ hurts.” _

“I know, I know it does,” Martin tells him, stroking soothing hands over his thighs and belly. “And you’ve been so wonderful, Jon. I just need you to hold on for a bit longer.”

Jon nods, chewing on his lip, feeling his eyes water. A bit longer. He can do that. 

“What’s the other thing I promised you this evening?” Martin asks him. Jon gives a low moan, heat rising in his face as he remembers. 

“Tell me,” says Martin. “I want to hear it in that gorgeous, filthy voice of yours.”

“A, uh, a - a perineal massage.” 

“Lovely,” Martin tells him. “And you’ve been so good, I think you’ve earned it. Just wait here a second, okay?”

Jon couldn’t do anything else if he tried, can’t even think of doing anything else, with his hips pressing desperately against the cushions and his thoughts all focused on keeping the shreds of his self control together. After a few moments Martin returns, and crouches on the floor between his legs. The vibrator in his hand is small and curved, with a flared head. 

“It’s a little more awkward with clothes on,” Martin says, “But I know you want to keep them on, don’t you? So you can make such a pretty mess of them when you finally let go.”

“Yes,” Jon gasps, and Martin smiles. Pulls up the hem of Jon’s t-shirt and strokes a hand over his abdomen. The distension is obvious now, his bladder overfilled and pressing out. Jon groans as Martin pushes down, just a little.

“We can make do, though,” he says. “And this is going to feel so good, when you’re all full up like this. Full to bursting point, and needing it so badly. But you won’t do anything until I say you can, will you?” 

“No,” Jon whimpers, reduced to single word responses now. Martin kisses his belly. 

“You’re so good for me, Jon,” he murmurs, and Jon shivers in pleasure. He wants to be good, he wants Martin to be pleased with him, god, it’s all he can think about, filled up with that desperate, throbbing ache, the pressure at once painful and so sweet. Everything else is washed away in that hot urgency, all the stress and the hesitation and the embarrassment he felt earlier, and he doesn’t know anything else but _ need._

Martin’s hands are gentle as he rucks up the loose fabric of the pajama bottoms so there’s give around Jon’s groin. Martin carefully cups his balls and Jon groans, splays his legs further apart as Martin’s fingers slide in behind. The tips of Martin’s fingers press against his perineum through the fabric, gently exploring. They stroke over one place that sends a coil of heat up through Jon’s belly, makes his muscles twitch. 

“Martin,” he gasps quietly, and Martin makes a satisfied sound.

“There you are.” 

Martin curls his fingers, presses the back of his middle and index fingers against that same spot, rubbing in small circles. Jon whimpers, the nerves firing up through his balls, deep into his groin, sending little shocks of pleasure through him. His cock is twitching with interest. Each firm motion also sends hot urgency sparking through him, he’s about to lose control, he can feel it, and he moans.

“Martin, I’m going to - ”

“You’re not,” Martin tells him. “It’s just your prostate making you feel like it. You’re going to hold on a little longer for me, Jon.” 

Jon nods, desperately, clenches his muscles as hard as he can and squirms as Martin’s fingers pull away, and he replaces them with the vibrator, pushing the flared head in behind Jon’s balls. He presses a button and the toy comes to life, vibration buzzing up through Jon’s pelvis with startling intensity that drags a soft, panting cry from his lips. 

“Oh, god,” he moans, spreading his legs even wider, pushing himself shamelessly against the head of the vibrator as pleasure hums through his groin, his cock springing to attention and his balls tingling. The vibrations shudder through his overfilled bladder, sending reflexive contractions through his belly as he gasps and desperately tenses against the inevitable. 

“I told you it would feel good, didn’t I?” Martin smiles up at him. Jon groans in agreement and rolls his hips. “How does it feel, Jon?”

“It’s so much,” Jon whimpers, feeling his pelvic muscles flex in distress, desperately holding on by sheer force of will. “I can’t hold it anymore, I can’t - ”

“Do you want to let go?” Jon nods frantically, his face hot and his heart racing.

“Please, Martin, _ please…” _

Martin’s hands move away, taking the deep, thrumming vibrations with them.

“Okay then, you can let go.”

The words wash over him like a benediction, and Jon closes his eyes in relief. Relaxes his pelvic muscles, and feels...nothing, the tension still drawn tight and urgent. Like every time he’s ever tried to urinate with a morning erection. He pushes against the tension, strains, and feels a tiny, weak trickle escape, doing nothing to relieve the painful fullness. He whines with frustration, pushes his hips up, his cock tenting out the fabric against the pathetic wet spot.

“Can’t…” he whimpers, “Not like this.”

“Oh you poor, needy thing,” Martin says softly. “We’ll just have to take care of that then, won’t we?”

He presses the vibrator back into its spot and Jon shudders with pleasure as it hums up through his groin, waves of tingling sensation from his balls to the root of his cock. Martin’s other hand lays flat on Jon’s belly, pressing down firmly against his aching, full bladder, rubbing in soothing, tortuous circles. 

“You’re going to let go of everything for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he murmurs gently. “You’re going to take all that tension and just let it go and it’s going to feel amazing. You’re so lovely, so sexy like this, I love you so much.”

Jon can hear himself moaning Martin’s name, loud and desperate, feels his entire body shaking like it’s going to come apart, his hips jerking and every muscle in his pelvis contracting in painful pleasure. He feels his climax start deep in the core of him, rolling waves of pleasure through his groin that build and build. He looks down and sees Martin’s eyes on him, hazy with desire, _ wanting _ Jon like this. Jon gives a gasping cry as his cock pulses and the tension spills over, feels himself coming and then a rush of relief so intense it’s almost more than orgasmic as his body lets go. 

Wet heat rushes out of him, soaking through the pajama bottoms and turning the fabric dark and heavy, clinging against his skin. Jon feels hot with pleasure, whimpering and gasping, his head swimming with the bliss of release. He can feel tears running down his cheeks, sobs shaking up from his diaphragm through his chest, his breath hitching. Martin’s hand is stroking his spasming belly, and Martin is saying how good and beautiful he is, over and over. It seems to go on forever, and Jon couldn’t stop it if he tried. He gives himself up to the sensation, to the dizzying relief, his entire body gone loose and relaxed. 

Eventually the stream slows and stops, and Jon sits there trembling and elated, heady with the feeling of relief, the wet warmth clinging to his skin. He feels Martin sit beside him on the sofa, stroking his hair, murmuring words that Jon can’t focus on. He feels weak and boneless, his mind almost blank but for the sense of contentment and safety. Heavy and floating all at once. He feels exhausted, like he’s run miles, and he sinks back with his eyes fluttering closed. He could just rest for a minute here. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Martin says, his voice finally cutting through the euphoric haze. He kisses the side of Jon’s head, and then gets up and tucks his hands under Jon’s armpits.

“Come on,” he says, “Let’s get you into the shower, get you cleaned up a bit.”

Jon does his best to participate, getting his legs under him and making a good faith effort to stand, but really Martin does most of the work, pulling Jon up to lean heavily against him. The wet pajamas drag against Jon’s thighs as he puts one foot in front of the other, and he feels a little residual thrill run through him at the sensation. This...happened, and Martin saw him, _ watched _ him, and told him he was lovely and sexy and good. It was - it was more than Jon can think about right now. Right now, all he can do is whatever Martin wants. 

Martin runs the shower and helps Jon’s clumsy efforts to get his clothes off. Pulls his own clothes off while Jon sways slightly on his feet, and then gets them both under the spray. He starts lathering Jon with a washcloth and some coconut-smelling gel soap, and Jon leans into him, only wanting to get closer. Martin has an erection, he notices, and Jon reaches for him. Martin bats his hand gently away. 

“Maybe later,” he says fondly. “For now, I’m taking care of you, all right?” 

“All right,” Jon sighs, and shuts his eyes as Martin’s hands come up into his hair, massaging in something that smells like citrus. The water is blissful, and Martin’s gentle touch more so, and Jon soaks it in until the water shuts off and Martin bundles him into a large, fluffy towel. Martin towels off his hair while Jon makes his best efforts with the bath towel, and then Martin scoops him off his feet and carries him into the bedroom. Jon might protest the manhandling if it didn’t feel so good to just sink into Martin’s embrace. 

With Martin’s help he gets himself into another set of pajamas, these thick flannel, which Jon is grateful for. He’s starting to shiver out of the heat of the shower, and it’s not unexpected, but it makes him feel a bit pathetic, however many times Martin assures him it’s a normal physiological reaction. He crawls under the duvet at Martin’s urging, propped up on a mound of pillows. Martin disappears for a few minutes and returns in his own pajamas, with water and tea and about a kilogram of chocolate. 

“Have some water first,” he directs, and Jon has enough presence of mind to take the glass out of Martin’s hands rather than having it held to his lips. He doesn’t protest when Martin breaks off a square of chocolate and feeds it to him, though, just takes a sip of his tea and lets the creamy sweetness dissolve in his mouth. 

“Thanks, Martin,” he says at last. Martin curls up alongside him on the bed, and feeds him another square of chocolate.

“Well, you don’t need to thank me for anything, but you’re welcome. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes, I - a lot,” Jon says feebly, but Martin is smiling at him like he’s said something brilliant. 

“I’m glad. I did too. You really are absolutely gorgeous when you’re desperate, you know?”

“Oh, well…” Jon feels his face coloring a little, embarrassed and pleased. He drinks some tea awkwardly, and eats some more of the chocolate. Martin snuggles nearer to him. Jon leans into his warmth and closeness, letting his eyes close again. He feels utterly content, safe and relaxed and pleasantly exhausted. 

He hardly feels it when Martin takes the mug out of his hand and sets it down on the bedside cabinet. Rouses a little as Martin adjusts the pillows beneath him so he’s lying down, his eyes fluttering barely open. 

“Martin,” he breathes. 

“It’s all right, Jon, go to sleep,” Martin says gently, and Jon frowns, because this is important. Because he _ asked _ for this evening, and it was embarrassing and scary, to make himself vulnerable that way. Just a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he could even go through with it. But he’s glad he did, opened himself up to Martin, who he loves and trusts entirely. He feels _ known, _ now, more intimately than ever. He needs Martin to know all of that, and more besides, but all he can manage to say is:

“I’d like to do this again.”

Martin makes a quiet, happy humming sound, and his arms wrap around Jon, pulling him into an embrace. Jon relaxes into it as his eyes close again, and he feels Martin kiss his forehead tenderly. 

“Then of course we’ll do it again, sweetheart,” Martin murmurs, and the words sink warm and reassuring with him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [@cuttoothed](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuttoothed) on tumblr, if you'd like to yell at me about TMA!


End file.
